


Free Agent

by foxcatcher



Series: International Purveyors of Pornography [2]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Adult Entertainment, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Heath gets a chance, If WWE did porn instead of wrestling, M/M, Oral Sex, Rhyno is confused, Ric Flair is Ric Flair, What does Enzo even do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-16 03:52:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11245752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxcatcher/pseuds/foxcatcher
Summary: The one where Heath is a porn jobber, Enzo is a good friend and Fandango isn't the worst porn name.





	1. What's in a name?

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by my love of clichés and Heath Slater just trying to get by. This is definitely not how the adult entertainment business works. The rating will kick in in the following chapters.

“What the hell kind of porn name is Fandango?”

Heath was muttering to himself as he walked into the warehouse, pushing his sunglasses up on his forehead. He’d been here several times before, but the sheer size of the brick building never ceased to impress him. It was massive, built around the turn of the century to store something or other, before changing hands several times. In strange turn of events, it now housed WWE Inc. - the US’ leading Adult Entertainment company, and one of the fastest growing in the world, much thanks to its eccentric CEO Vince McMahon.

Heath liked to think of it as a porn fortress. Or maybe a sex hangar.

Narrowly avoiding a pack of interns returning from their coffee runs, Heath took in the organised chaos of Mr. McMahons Porn Emporium. The ground floor was bustling, filled with various unused sets, some still under construction and others partially taken down, forming a confused maze of dungeons, fake offices and class rooms. There was even a half-assembled wrestling ring propped up in a corner. On each side of the open main hall were rows and rows of doors, leading to the studios. Above that was the second floor, housing the non-filming departments, and above that again was the great vaulted ceiling. Vague noises were streaming down from the upstairs offices, mingling with the noise of the carpenters and spreading through the room like a mist. Someone had _hilariously_ decided to decorate the walls with poster-sized photographs from the building’s past – black and white images of horse-drawn carts and stone-faced workers lifting barrels and crates. Heath couldn’t help but wonder, as he wound past a rack of latex costumes, what those serious, flat-capped men would think if they saw their workplace now. 

At least the air inside was pleasantly cool compared to the stifling summer heat outside. It licked up Heath’s sweaty back, making his t-shirt stick to him as he tried to fish his phone out of his pocket. As an unsigned extra, he’d been called in to do background work on some run-of-the-mill flick the were shooting, featuring whatever young talent they were currently trying to promote. It was pretty standard stuff. Really, most background work was the same. You met up for a briefing, stood around watching better paid actors get it on, and spent the rest of the time waiting. Maybe you got half a character and some direction. It was hardly rocket science. Still, even by bit actor standards, this shoot seemed sparse. The email hadn’t mentioned any lines or any costumes, just the time, the studio number and the name of the director – Fandango. Heath snorted as he flicked through the email again, before pulling himself together. No giggling. A man occasionally known as ‘The One-Man Band’ shouldn’t be throwing stones in the glass house of bad porn names.

It wasn’t like Heath had ever imagined himself getting into the porn business. He’d graduated, solidly unexceptional, and like most people in his home town, he’d found himself broke and unemployed and desperate to get out. It had progressed naturally from there until he’d been forced to take on any odd jobs he could find, and by then, it had seemed as good a line of work as anything else he could do. It paid the bills. It got him out. With time, he’d even started to see it as a career of sort, somewhere he could work his way up, get comfortable, make a name for himself. People who started out at the same time as he had moved on quickly and become headliners – why couldn’t it happen to Heath Slater? Not for a second had he imagined that his career, as incidental as it might have been, would consist of a few low-budget shoots best forgotten, some dirty photos and a long line of drab background parts.

It hadn’t been easy, but through the years he’d managed to cobble together a living from these bits and bobs and still retain most of his dignity. Although there had been times where he’d seen the need to ‘compromise his Christianity’ to get by, he found it hard to feel ashamed of any of them. He’d never done anything he was (too) uncomfortable with, and it kept him out of the trailer park.

Even if he could never go to a Wendy’s again.

-

Putting his phone away, Heath peered around for any familiar faces. Hopefully, there would be someone around that he knew well enough to ask for directions. Being an unsigned extra meant a lot of things. Mainly, it humbled you. It taught you that while you were a necessary cog in the machinery, you were also the one that could most easily be replaced. It helped you develop almost zen-like levels of patience, which were necessary to deal with the notoriously unpredictable work. You learned to take things as they came. To plan on a budget. At some point, you stopped feeling weird about people fucking right next to you (and with that came an incredible amount of knowledge on how to remove jizz stains).

You also rarely got to know the people you worked with. Most interactions never went beyond pleasantries, and to the producers you might as well be part of the set.

The extras were an odd bunch, too. Some of them were clearly there to get off, while others just seemed to need somewhere to hang out during working hours. But there were also scores of young men who seemed to think they were just there wasting time, until a window opened into the “real” business. You could spot them from a mile away – tanned and slick and hungry, dressed for the job they wanted. Sharks, the lot of them. They would stab you in the back any day of the week, if it meant getting more time on camera. Amongst these people, Heath was essentially a nobody, having given up on ambitions like that a long time ago. And while he didn’t much, he didn’t feel the need to rub shoulders with them either.

It was easier to make friends behind the scenes anyway. Craning his neck, Heath spotted a familiar frame, currently busy putting up a saloon sign in what appeared to be half a Wild West bordello. Bingo.

Happy and hot and not really thinking, he skipped to his set-building friend, and slapped a hand on his back.

“Rhyno! Baby!”

Rhyno went stiff as a board, dropping the hammer he’d been wielding and a whole box of nails to the floor with a loud clang. “Shit! Sorry!” Heath winced, grappling for the tool and nearly headbutting the other man in the process. There were nails everywhere. Had he not known Rhyno better, he would have taken the look he gave him for a scowl.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

Heath felt a bit like the time he and his brothers had thrown a football through Mrs. Campbell’s kitchen window. Their mother had marched them over to their neighbour and made each of them shake her hand and apologise, while she looked on disapprovingly. And Mrs. Campbell had stood there in a room full of broken glass, and smiled and said it was what boys did and refused to let them pay for it, and somehow that had made Heath feel even worse.

The sign swung dejectedly by one corner, mocking him.

“It’s alright, doesn’t look like any damage has been done,” Rhyno said softly, inspecting the board. Heath must have looked as bad as he felt, because the long-haired man shot him a look and quickly added, “It’s fine, really. You could help me put it back up. I mean, if you’ve got time...”

Heath’s smile was so warm and genuine, it stunned Rhyno for a moment. “Sure, that’s the least I can do,” he said, bending down to pick up some nails. Rhyno remained rooted to the ground, still and silent like a brick wall. Heath could almost hear him thinking. Just as he was getting worried, he seemed to snap out of whatever it was and crouched down to join him.

“Thanks.”

It came out short and clipped, like Ryno wasn’t used to saying it. Heath got the impression that he was trying to hide behind his hair, and had the sudden urge to reach out and tuck it behind his ear. Keeping his hands down, he swallowed and gave him a nod.

“Anytime, buddy.”

It felt like he was missing something.

Focusing on the job at hand, they gathered everything and put the sign back up in comfortable silence. It was always easy with Rhyno. Ever since they first met, it was as if they were just catching up, like they’d known each other for years. It had come as a surprise to some. Rhyno had something of a reputation as an intimidating figure, and if Heath was completely honest, it wasn’t hard to see why. To most people in the company, Rhyno was a burly man with a bad case of Resting Death Glare, who rarely spoke to anyone, let alone smiled. But Heath wasn’t most people.

Once the sign was up and Heath slung an arm around his shorter friend, Rhyno didn’t budge an inch.

“Nice work, man,” Heath grinned, ever excitable. And he meant it. He’d never met anyone who put so much effort into something people were going to bang on. “Looks like something out of Tombstone,” he said, pointing to the ceiling and pretending to fire his fingers like guns. It didn’t quite get a laugh, but it did make Rhyno exhale a bit louder than usual, which was sort of the same. Heath stroked his shoulder absentmindedly, rubbing circles with his thumb. In some ways, they were in the same boat, neither man feeling like they belonged there. Heath was flitting unsigned between companies, and Rhyno had a job as a carpenter outside the studio, only coming in when they needed him. Looking down at his friend, the urge to touch him was still there, no more or less prominent than before, but Heath didn’t mind. It was a warm weight, anchoring him as Rhyno returned the gaze. It felt like they were both waiting for the other to say something. He opened his mouth, not sure of what was about to come out of it.

“I…”

Something stopped him, drawing his eyes to a spot near Rhyno’s face.

Motherfucker.

“Motherfucker.”

For a second, his friend looked terribly confused and sad, until he noticed Heath’s wristwatch.

“Fuck, I’m late for the shoot! Sorry, Rhyno, I’ll catch you later!”

And like that he was off, leaving his friend less sad, but still confused. Rhyno followed Heath with his eyes all the way to Studio 3, the bright red of his hair weaving through the room like a lit match. Only when it disappeared behind the door, did he tear himself away and pick up his hammer. There was work to be done, after all.

-

He was only 10 minutes late, but Heath was aware that, depending on what scene they were shooting first, those could be very uncomfortable minutes indeed. So when he swung the door open, he was prepared to apologise for blue-balling an entire crew, literally _and_ metaphorically. But instead of oiled up porn stars, he was met with a near empty set, save for two men. One of them was sitting on a dresser, dressed in some truly preposterous trousers, while the other was just in his underwear.

They were both handsome and dark-haired, talking softly between themselves until Heath let the door close behind him. As he walked in, Heath noticed an older man standing a bit further off, near the cameras. He was easily twice the age of the others, if not more, white haired and dressed in a beige suit, which in the setting of a fake bedroom made him look just a tad sleazy. Which was impressive when neither of the other men were wearing shirts. He couldn’t be an extra, Heath didn’t think he’d seen him on any sets, but the man was looking at him with an odd little smile, like he was recognising him.

It was giving Heath the creeps…

“Uh, this is the _Easy Breezy_ shoot, right? Don’t tell me the party’s already over?” Heath grinned, trying to get a read on the situation. The man on the dresser was giving him a serious once-over as he approached them. “What’s that shirt?” he scoffed, squinting at Heath’s faded Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt like it was causing him physical pain. Heath didn’t dignify it with a response. He wasn’t prepared to take fashion tips from a man dressed in white holographic spandex.

When it became clear that Heath wasn’t going to reply, SparklePants continued, picking up some kind of list.

“Change of plans. What’s your name?”

“Heath Slater. I was just supposed to do background work.”

The man kept his eyes on the paper, nodding as Heath answered. “Right. Fandango,” he said, pointing to himself, then gesturing towards the other man. “This is Wade Barrett.” Ah, so this was Fandango. The name certainly matched the flamboyant appearance.

“I’m sorry no one called you, but the shoot’s been cancelled. Tyler had a bit of a tantrum and walked off. I thought we’d contacted everyone involved, but your number doesn’t seem to be here.”

“Oh. Ok.” A pregnant pause. “Is he alright?” Heath said, for lack of anything else.

Fandango gave him an arched look that told him exactly how tired he was of Tyler’s shit.

“That’s sweet of you, but I’m sure he’s fine. He’s just being a diva. It could have been anything; maybe the lighting was wrong, maybe the makeup girl picked the wrong bronzer. The only thing I know is that it halts the entire production.”

The director seemed to decide that was sufficient and turned back to his clipboard, while Heath shuffled his feet, not sure what to do. Short notice cancellations were never great, and even less so when he had already made the trek to the studio. He looked over at Wade. He’d seen the man on set many times before, in various states of undress, but they’d never actually spoken. There was an invisible divide of sorts between the actors and the extras. Of course, no one talked about it - that would be a nightmare for the HR department. It was just something everyone knew and accepted, the way it had always been. Some things never changed, no matter how close you got to someone’s balls: the extras didn’t bother the actors and the actors didn’t acknowledge the extras.

And the man hadn’t said a word so far, just nodded when Fandango introduced him and remained standing with his arms crossed, tall and built and as imposing as a man could be in his briefs. In fact, all he had done since Heath walked in the door was fix him with a strange, weighty gaze. Heath cleared his throat, and looked away. The older man was still there. Right, he was going to have to ask.

“And, uh, who’s the blast from the past?”

“Oh, that’s Ric. We didn’t invite him,” Fandango replied without hesitation.

When Heath stared back at him, blank-eyed and waiting, he added, “Him and Dustin helped start the company way back in the 70s, so we let him come and go as he wants…”

Ric must have heard his name and taken it as an invitation, because he was sauntering over to the men like a giant, tanned lizard, expensive loafers creaking against the floor. 

And proceeded to smack Heath on the ass.

Loudly.

It felt like a greeting.

“The Nature Boy himself, at your service.” the man oozed, looking up at Heath with the same air of recognition as he’d had when he’d first walked in. Heath didn’t like it one bit. “Heath” he replied lamely, and put out his hand to shake, in a desperate stab at normalcy. No one could accuse him of not being polite. And maybe it would persuade Flair to move his own hand, which he’d just sort of left on his ass, post-smack.

Ric didn’t even look at it.

“What happened to the braids, man?”

Shit. “What?” Heath squeaked. Fuck. Not here. “You must be thinking of someone else.” He tried to laugh, but an edge of hysteria was creeping in. 

“Leave him alone, Flair.” Wade rumbled, mirth in his voice but his eyes still dark and focused on Heath. Oh. He hadn’t been expecting the accent. It was doing something pleasant and unwelcome to his insides. Meanwhile, Ric was flashing them a bright smile, lifting his hands up in mock-surrender.

“Don’t worry, Flair knows when he’s not wanted. I’ll see you around, ‘Dango. Too bad about the shoot, I was looking forward to seeing Tyler in action.” And with another waggle of his eyebrows at Heath’s red face, he was on his way.

A strange silence settled over the room in Ric’s wake. Wade and Fandango were both looking at him now, like they were assessing him, waiting for something to happen. Heath wasn’t sure why he was still there. The shoot was cancelled, he had all kinds of stuff he needed to do, but something was keeping him there. The other men hadn’t made any move to leave either, and Heath could feel his neck heating up under the scrutiny. He wanted to break the tension so badly, make a joke and walk away, but his feet and tongue felt heavy, sluggish. He tried for an uneasy smile instead, eyes flitting towards the door.

When he looked back, Fandango had got off his perch on the dresser and was slowly making his way towards him. Wade was still standing in the same spot, unmoving and _still staring_. It was becoming harder to breathe. Somewhere in the back of Heath’s mind, he was finding the whole situation hilarious. He was a grown-ass man. He’d done some strange, strange things in his career without blinking, and here he was, rooted to the ground, unravelling from just a look.

They were flanking him now, Fandango in front and Wade sidling up behind. They hadn’t touched him yet, but Heath could feel the warmth radiating off their bodies, Wade’s breath fanning hotly across the back of his neck.

“You know, we were just talking about what a shame it is that Tyler decided to leave. Here we are, everything set up, cameras ready…” Fandango purred, reaching to take the sunglasses off his head, just as Heath thought he couldn’t get any more flustered. His voice was warm and smooth, worming its way into Heath’s brain. “But now we have someone who could step in, don’t we? Someone who’d be happy to take his place?” It ought to be cheesy. It sort of was. Had it been anyone else, Heath would have laughed out loud, but coming from Fandango, it as breathy and alluring, and Heath had to dig his nails into his palms to avoid doing something stupid.

“It would be a pity if all this was for nothing.”

Someone’s hand was brushing against his hip, another one absentmindedly picking at the hem of his shirt, as if awaiting permission to touch. The words stretched between them. “Yeah,” Heath finally managed to croak out. “Yeah, it would.” Wade was moulding himself against his back, hands flat against his hips, moving ever so slightly against him. Heath was suddenly very aware of the cameras in the room - of the implications of the other man’s words. Fandango had moved close, so close Heath could nearly feel his lips on his, mirroring Wade’s lips on his nape, and Heath was panting, open-mouthed.

“C-..:”

His head was spinning. He needed to get out, needed a break to figure out what the hell was happening. The two men stopped immediately. It took a few attempts to get the words out.

“Co-… Could you just give me a minute?”


	2. Carpe malum nuntium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enzo gives Bo a run for his inspirational money. And Heath takes the offer.

_Breathe. Breathe. Breathe._

Heath was stumbling over the threshold, trying not to walk too fast. He’d been out the door before they’d had time to say yes. The dizziness was slowly going away, but he steadied himself on the frame anyway, not quite trusting his legs.

_Breathe._

Breathing was good. More of that. Heath felt jittery, itchy almost. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he leant heavily on the wall next to the studio door, his mind racing.

Where did it all go so wrong? All he’d meant to do when he got out of bed this morning, was to make a living in a slightly-less-than-respectable way, and now some old pervert had spent way too much time with his hand on his ass, two of the hottest men he’d ever met had offered to fuck him within an inch of his life for more money than he’d see in months, and his response had been to nearly come in his pants and run out on them.

Heath groaned, head thumping against the wall. What the fuck was he going to do now? He’d never live this down - he might as well turn in his porn badge and go back to bussing tables at Waffle House. The black and white photo above him creaked and to Heath’s ears it sounded like shrill laughter. He frowned up at it. Even the past was mocking him now.

He must have zoned out for a minute, busy trying to disappear into the wall, and was abruptly jerked back to reality by what appeared to be two barrels of lube nearly mowing into him.

“Hey, ‘Zo. That better not all be for you.” 

“Heath! How you doin’?” Enzo’s happy bearded face peeked over the barrels and immediately turned concerned. “Dude, how you doin’? You alright?”

“Yeah, ‘m fine. Just stretching my legs.” Heath was a terrible liar.

“You sure? ‘cause you look like you’ve seen a ghost. But, like, a _sexy_ ghost,” Enzo replied, nodding towards Heath’s crotch. Great. He’d hadn’t noticed. He was having a professional crisis in the porn hangar _and_ he had a raging boner. Heath stared down at it. The fucking traitor. With a deep sigh, he turned back to Enzo.

“It’s… It’s been kind of a weird day,” Heath said, as his friend wheeled his lube cargo away.

Understatement of the century.

-

“…So, long story short, they want me to do a shoot instead of Breeze.” he finished, looking to the man leaning next to him. Enzo was grinning madly.

Oh, no.

“What you’re tellin’ me,” Enzo said deliberately, as though his smile might actually split his face, “is that Flair already got to you?”

Heath’s stunned silence apparently spoke for itself, since Enzo started howling with laughter.

“Good old Naitch! Don’t waste no time!”

“Shut up, Enzo.”

“You know why they call him the dirtiest player in the game, right?”

“ _Shut up, Enzo._ You’re not taking this seriously.” Well, he rarely did, but Heath felt like he had to say it. “What should I do?”

The wild-haired man was bent over double, still giggling. A stern look from Heath toned it down to a wheeze.

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to upset you.” he apologised, visibly pulling himself together. Once he’d got his breathing back to normal and wiped away the honest-to-god tears from his eyes, he turned to the pouting ginger.

“Heath, you’re my friend, and don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t see a problem here. Those stallions want to ride you into the sunset – alright, make sweet, responsible love to you,” Enzo interjected at Heath’s spluttering protests. “Doesn’t change the fact that you _obviously_ enjoyed whatever was goin’ on in there, before you got cold feet and ran out,” he continued. “And from what I understand, you’d be paid as a feature actor. That’s a good fuckin’ deal, right there. Enough to keep you and your car running for a while. And then, whaddyaknow? Maybe Trips get his hands on the tape, maybe he takes it to Big Papa Vince, maybe he calls you up, wants to cast you in –“

“Enzo, is this fantastic narrative going anywhere?” Heath cut him off, sharper than he intended. He ought to feel bad about it – besides quality footwear and that tall guy in the script department, there were few things Enzo liked more than a good monologue, and he’d been in full Italian mode when Heath had stopped him, speaking with his voice and hands in equal measures - but he had zero patience for Enzo’s rambling right now. He was tired and aroused and just wanted everything figured out already.

“Yeah, bro. ‘Course it is.“ Enzo actually looked _miffed_ at the interruption, but let his arms flop down and leant back against the wall. “Seriously, Heath. You freaked out a bit – so what? They’re porn stars, they’re meant to be all sexy and intimidatin’. I’ve seen people freak out over less. The point is, this could be your ticket out of background purgatory. You know better than anyone how many people wait for a window like that. Just dust yourself off, go back in there as if nothin’ happened, and do the best you can. Carpe the diem and all that shit.”

“Yeah, I’ve listened to you before, and you remember how well that worked out.”

It was petty, but at least Enzo had the decency to look a bit sheepish.

“…said I was sorry ‘bout that. And it’s not like you didn’t get paid or anythin’ – ipso facto, it worked out.”

Heath could only glare back. He hated when Enzo was right.

“Look,” Enzo started, as serious as Heath had ever seen him, his eyes soft and earnest.

It was weird, like seeing photos of your parents in their 20s for the first time, and realising they were people too.

“I know my track record for advice ain’t great, but I’ve been workin’ here long enough to know how stuff works, and this is an opportunity that don’t come up often. You gotta take this one - you weren’t meant for this small-time bullshit, and I can tell it’s eatin’ you alive… You deserve a chance, Heath. Show them what you’re capable of.”

Heath was almost speechless.

“You really mean that.” he replied. It was just stating a fact – everything his friend had said had sounded true, even if he wasn’t sure he believed it himself. Or maybe he didn’t dare believe it, didn’t want to admit that he wasn’t happy with things as they were. That it was wearing him down.

It was as if someone had turned a switch, dulling whatever it was that had sent Heath running out to the main hall in the first place. He could still feel remnants of it, something nervous and tense at the core of him, but it was far away, a flickering long-distance transmission of the original feeling. Something new was creeping in in its place.

Enzo was observing him in one of his rare silences, patiently waiting for his friend to digest what he’d said.

“I’m only going to say this once, so you better enjoy it: You’re right. And a, uh, certified G,” he said with a careful smile. He felt unstoppable. “Thank you, ‘Zo.”

It wasn’t enough, but Enzo looked like he understood and landed a playful punch to Heath’s arm.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he grinned back. “Now, I’ve usually got a no-boner-hug policy, but I think you need this one.”

-

Back inside the studio, the air was still thick and hot, as if he’d never walked out. Fandango was back on his perch on the dresser, Wade not far away - they reminded Heath of lions, lounging before a hunt.

_Sexy and intimidatin’_ , Enzo added helpfully.

Trying his best not to lose his nerve, he stopped in front of them.

“Alright. I’m in.”

There was the slightest waver to his voice, which Heath was just going to pretend wasn’t there. Forcing any remaining doubts to the back of his mind, he puffed out his chest and tried to radiate some of the confidence he’d felt after Enzo’s pep-talk.

And then… nothing.

The silence was tangible. Fandango had clearly been expecting the answer, but he only arched an eyebrow at him and remained where he was. Heath let out the breath he’d been holding, all the earlier bravado disappearing with it.

_Please. Please don’t let all this be for nothing. Please._

For five long seconds Heath felt like a complete idiot, before Wade was kissing him like he’d been waiting to do so, replacing all of Heath’s doubts and posturing with pure _need_. Heath let out a desperate sound, opening his mouth to let Wade lick into it. The Englishman kissed exactly like he’d hoped he would, strong and insistent, and he didn’t even have the energy to pretend he hadn’t thought about it. God, he hadn’t realised exactly how much taller the other man was, how broad he was, the feel of his beard, his _hands…_

Big and rough, they were roaming Heath like they’d been set free; one moment grabbing his ass, the next scratching over the buzzed sides of his head, deepening the kiss. Heath exhaled sharply through his nose, holding on to Wade’s arm for his dear life, and it only seemed to spur him on. At some point they broke apart – just enough to breathe heavily into each other’s mouths. Their hips were moving on their own, both hard. Heath looked up, meeting Wade’s heavy-lidded gaze. His hands were clamped around the taller man’s biceps, hard enough that it had to be uncomfortable, but Wade was all smiles. He leant in conspiratorially.

“Let me show you off, love.”

Heath let out a shaky breath. That accent was going to be the end of him. It made him feel like he would do anything the other asked of him - and so he did - let Wade pull his shirt over his head and kiss him hotly, before turning him around to face Fandango. He’d nearly forgot that the suave director was there, but Fandango didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying himself a lot. He was smug too, the bastard, smirking like he knew he’d made this happen, stupidly handsome in a way Heath didn’t quite trust. No one should be able to wear those trousers and get away with it, let alone look good in them. 

“Look at that,” Wade said, running his big, warm hands across his chest. Heath thought he could feel every ridge of his fingerprints as they brushed over his nipples, hissing and arching into the touch. In front of them, Fandango was palming himself. A barely visible flush had spread across his cheekbones. If he hadn’t been so turned on, Heath might have felt proud.

“You did that.”

The palms continued down, leaving hot trails over his stomach. 

Heath was floating. There was a real sense of power to knowing that he could affect someone like this, that he wasn’t the only one coming apart. He rolled his hips, unable to stop the sounds escaping him. Wade growled at it, giving him a gentle bite to the jaw, and the hands finally reached for his fly, slowly popping the buttons. Heath could have wept with relief, but settled for a distinctly un-manly whimper as his cock was freed from its confines.

“You little whore,” Wade’s voice was full of something like affection. “I knew you’d be like this. So easy. So _keen._ ” He stroked him lazily, just enough to make him squirm and buck against his grip, bringing his other hand up to brush against Heath’s mewling lips.

“Show him what you can do.”

Yeah.

He could do that.

Staring Fandango down, he flicked his tongue out to lap between the fingers. No one was going to accuse Heath Slater of backing down from a challenge. As if he could read his mind, Wade pressed two fingers flat against his tongue, making him open his mouth wider, and Heath could’ve sworn he felt him grin against his neck. He drew the digits deeper, until his teeth grazed the knuckles and the hand on his dick tightened. It was like Wade was testing his limits, the hands moving in tandem. Heath could only groan against the fingers. By the time he retrieved them, they were glistening with saliva, a shimmer trail stretching from the digits to Heath’s lips, and the Englishman was rutting against the swell of his ass.

Fandango had hopped down from the dresser and was unzipping himself, beckoning Heath over. Much to his frustration, the man looked as immaculate as he had before the whole thing started. Heath wanted to wipe the smoulder off him. Muss up his hair. Ruffle his feathers. Before he could stop himself, he was already kneeling in front of the director. 

There was a hand against his nape, spit-damp and hot enough to brand.

“Go on, pet. Don’t let me stop you.”

With Wade’s solid presence against his back, Heath let it guide him forward, lips finally touching the seam at Fandango’s crotch. There was a sound, barely audible, and Heath couldn’t tell which of the men it had come from, only that he wanted to hear it again. He lapped at the fabric, making damp tracks on the shiny surface until Fandango decided to be helpful and wiggle the spandex down to his thighs.

To no one’s surprise, he wasn’t wearing any underwear.

Not wanting to give the director too much time to brace himself, Heath wrapped a hand around the base of his cock and mouthed along the side, dragging his tongue from base to tip. Like everything else on the man, it was stupidly perfect. Perfect length, perfect girth. Fucking beautiful. Not as big as Wade, from what he could tell, but still considerable. He even tasted good. The hand on his neck pushed him forward – just a gentle, guiding pressure, but Heath took the hint and opened his mouth over the head.

Wade had to be aware of the effect his accent had on him. Every casual “pet” and “love” was driving him mad, and now he had kept close to Heath’s ear, providing a running commentary of _fuck_ and _that’s it_ and _how much can you take_ and _are you going to be this good for me_. 

The words curled their way down his spine, and he was hyper-aware that his own dick was still out and rock hard, the teeth of his zipper digging in uncomfortably. He didn’t dare touch it - while he didn’t know all the ins and outs of the business, he was pretty sure coming less than a minute into a blowjob was a bit of a faux pas. Even more so when you weren’t on the receiving end. If nothing else, he didn’t want to give Wade the satisfaction of losing control. He was clearly enjoying himself too much as it was.

The defiant spark from earlier flared up at the thought.

Heath had never been one to half-ass anything, so, taking a deep breath, he leant in and swallowed until his nose was brushing Fandago’s abs. There was a sharp gasp, followed by a husky, drawn-out “Fffffffffuck”. Finally, something had made a dent in the man’s suave façade, and Heath took a second to feel pretty pleased with himself. Deservedly so, he thought – the man got his dick sucked _for a living_.

As soon as he started bobbing his head in earnest, Wade disappeared. He must have decided Heath could hold his own and peeled away with one last kiss to his nape. Heath could hear the patter of his bare feet against the floor, further and further away from him. He missed him almost instantly. Luckily, Fandango didn’t give him any time to lose his grounding, and his hands easily slotted in where the others had been, firm against Heath’s overheated skin. He was thrusting easily into him, setting a pace like he knew exactly how much Heath could take, and soon enough, he was fucking his throat with steady thrusts. Heath moaned against it - the sounds filling the room were wet and filthy, and his jaw was aching and his nose was running and it really shouldn’t be this hot, but he could feel himself lean in, allowing the other full control of his mouth. Above, Fandango sucked a breath in between his teeth. The hand on Heath’s neck tightened, pushing him down until he’d taken him down to the hilt and _held_ him there. Heath’s squeezed his eyes shut. His erection throbbed angrily, neglected and leaking.

Just as he thought he might actually suffocate (and what a way to go), Fandango relaxed his vice-like grip and Heath pulled off his cock with a loud gasp, drool slipping from his lips. He leant heavily against the other man’s thighs, like a man half drowned, blinking away the tears in his eyes. His throat felt raw, stinging with every breath he rasped in.

A heavy palm, which turned out to be Wade’s, landed on his shoulder and helped him to his feet. His legs were wobbly, enough so that he had to brace himself against Fandango’s chest. There was a sheen of sweat on the dark-haired man, making him glisten in an otherworldly way. Heath couldn’t help but gawk at him, eyes big and round, but Fandango just smiled at him like he’d passed a test, grabbing hold of his wrists and pulling him in to press their lips together for the first time.  
It was less of a kiss and more a collision of mouths, all teeth and harsh breaths. Heath was glad to have Wade’s anchoring bulk back with him. There were hands everywhere, and he could barely tell where he ended and the others began, like he was being held up solely by the proximity of the two men. Wade must have gone to fetch lube – there was the tell-tale click of a cap being opened, rough hands on his ass. A cold, slick finger slipped between his cheeks, pressing against his hole.

“You ready?”

What a ridiculous question. Heath was beyond ready. Beyond words too, but he managed a “Uh-huh” and a frantic nod, and got another biting kiss from Fandango in return. Wade seemed to be as tired of waiting as Heath, making quick work of it until he had three fingers pressed into him, and Heath was mewling and writhing, pushing back against them. One hard swipe against his prostate had his knees nearly buckling, tearing a rough sound from his already abused throat. It seemed to be the cue they needed to untangle themselves and push Heat down onto the mattress.

“Get on the bed.”

Wade’s voice sounded like Heath felt, thick with lust. His legs were still shaky when he moved, turning around and kneeling on the middle of the bed.

He’d expected to feel the mattress dip from the others joining him, but when he turned around, they were both standing where he’d left them, just… observing. Heath could only imagine what he looked like – sweaty and hard, eyes glassy, lips swollen, his whole body flushed in a way that he knew clashed horribly with his hair. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, making a series of aborted movements and feeling stupider with each one. In stark contrast, the other men exuded a kind of effortless confidence which you only ever seemed to find in the adult entertainment business. It was probably a necessity. You either had it, or you faked it until it became real.

Otherwise, you’d break.

Heath wasn’t naïve. No matter how heartfelt Enzo’s little speech had been, it wasn’t going to magically fix things. He’d spent too long struggling to get by in the murkiest corners of the business, and up until now, he’d been _fine_ with it. He’d accepted it. But now Wade and Fandango were taking their sweet time looking at him, like they were savouring the sight. It was almost making him angry.

In the end, he let his hands rest on his thighs, mostly to keep them from going anywhere else.

The mattress creaked as Wade put his knee on the edge. He crawled slowly towards Heath, predatory and graceful and completely at ease with his nakedness. His fingers brushed against Heath’s, a hand coming up to cup his face so the man could kiss him – a simple press of lips that said “Hi” and “It’s ok” and “I get it”. 

“You’ve been so good, love, so good,” It was soft, meant just for the two of them and much more intimate than it had any right to be. Wade’s hands were still on his face, gently stroking, their foreheads touching.

“Are you sure you’re ready? Have you done anything like this before?” he rumbled.

“…I’m not about to lose my camera virginity, dude. Of course I’ve done this before.” Heath replied, maybe a tad less confidently than he’d liked to. And he had. Just not… like this. With these implications. With someone like this.

Wade wasn’t having it. “I’m serious, Heath. You can let me know if it’s too much. We can still stop.”

And Heath was reeling back, pride wounded and ready to tell the man exactly how long he’d been in the game, when he saw Wade’s smirk. Of course he wasn’t done toying with him.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”

That drew a real laugh out of the other man, warm and surprised and pleased.

His eyes glinted.

Heath’s glinted right back.

-

There had been part of Heath that had thought Wade would turn cold and business-like when they got to the sex itself, regardless of what it had been like before. That’s what this was, after all. Business. But the strange sense of intimacy was still there, even as Fandango went into Director Mode and ordered him onto his hands and knees, facing the camera, even as he was moulded into position, even as the clinical snap of condom broke the atmosphere. It was almost confusing Heath.  
Wade’s hands never left him. He touched him like it was just the two of them there, stroking his sides, his strong back, the dip in his spine. Heath held deathly still as he started to press in, focusing only on the slow slide of the other man, feeling every inch filling him until he bottomed out.

Heath was so full, it was like there wasn’t room for anything else in him - no air, no thoughts, no nothing. Just empty bliss. They stayed there for a second, breathing together, before Heath nodded to let Wade know he could move. Wade didn’t.

The _monster_. Heath made a noise of pure frustration and tried to buck against him, but Wade had him pinned to the bed with one hand on his hip, the other on his shoulder. It was clear he wasn’t going anywhere until Wade decided he was ready.

“F-Fuck.”

“What was that, love? Anything you want?”

“Motherf-Ah!”

“If you want something, you have to ask for it. Use your words, Heath.”

The smug asshole. Even his name sounded filthy now. Heath was going to run out of expletives very soon, and he wasn’t about to beg for it. The One-Man Band didn’t beg. But the One-Man Band was also very, very hard and wouldn’t be too proud to “motivate” the other a bit.

Just as he was about to say something to “motivate” Wade to move, the man adjusted his hold on Heath and brushed against some wonderful part of him. Whatever Heath had been about to say disappeared in a full-throated moan and he could _hear_ Wade’s willpower finally break.

He pulled out and slammed back in, setting a pace that had Heath’s toes curling in the sheets. It’s wasn’t hard to see why Wade had made it as far as he had in the business. He had an uncanny way of getting under Heath’s skin, knowing exactly what buttons to push. He also fucked like his job depended on it. Which… it sort of did, Heath guessed? Not that he was in a position to say much. Heath knew that, on a good day, the distance between his brain and his mouth was pretty short, but now he couldn’t get a sound out. He could only gape and mouth at nothing, trying to move his hips to meet Wade’s thrusts, until a particularly hard and well-aimed one made it hard to keep any noises _in_. Suddenly they were bubbling over, spilling into the mattress as Wade continued to hammer into him. An arm looped around his chest, lifting him up to face Fandango, who was aiming a camera at him, hand back on his dick.

The new position made Wade slow down a bit, but it had also made him start talking again, thank God. Heath was too busy being fucked into oblivion to register all the words – they blurred together, tuning in and out and dissolving into mere sounds. He wasn’t even sure he was meant to hear what the man said, but he still caught snippets.

_That’s it, that’s it… taking me so good, beautiful… seen you on set, wanted you…next time, make you take me all the way down your throat, make you swallow… you’d let me, wouldn’t you… or maybe… both be in you…_

It didn’t make sense, but Heath didn’t care. Not when Wade’s cock was dragging deliciously against his prostate. He tried to move against him in the limited space, skin slapping against skin, and Wade’s hand was on his cock and his words were ringing in his ears. _Next time._ He felt drunk. Or more than that. When he was drunk for real, he usually managed to keep his clothes on. 9 out of 10 times, anyway. Being friends with Enzo did things to you.

Wade was picking up the pace, pushing him down with a hand between his shoulder blades. Heath let out a broken sound. His head was full of pleas he couldn’t let out, a constant stream of _pleasepleasefuckplease_ that got stuck in his throat. He was choking on them, hands scrabbling for purchase. Wade had to be as close as he was. The thrusts were starting to lose their pinpoint accuracy, but he kept the pace going, holding Heath’s shoulders flush with the mattress as he drove him into it. He lifted a hand and landed a sharp smack to his ass, and of all things, that’s what drove Heath over the edge.

He came with a strangled cry, like it had been punched out of him, hands clutching at the sheets next to his head. Wade fucked him through it, hard and fast until Heath felt like he might go crazy, before slowing down and pulling out like it pained him to leave the tight heat. Heath knew what was coming as he was flipped over, pun very much intended. Porn was all about the money-shot. Dazed, he looked up at the men looming over him, jerking themselves with hurried strokes. He was still riding high on his orgasm, twitching with aftershocks, chest heaving, every part of him overstimulated and sensitive. It didn’t take long for either of them - Wade was first, shooting across Heath’s chest with a grunt, Fandango following close behind. It felt boiling hot against his skin.

Fandango was the first to recover. He was right back in Director Mode, distant and professional, rambling about practical details and payment and future ideas, like Heath wasn’t still on the bed, fucked out of his mind and covered in cum.

It didn’t matter. Heath wasn’t listening anyway.

All that mattered was how Wade was stroking his hip, looking into his eyes, just as dazed as he was, and his head was calm and filled with a pleasant echo.

_Next time. Next time. Next time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English isn't my first language, so Enzo's accent and speech pattern was a pain to get down. Hopefully it's not too far off. It's also my first time writing anything smutty! It was difficult in the beginning, but once I got into a groove, it was a lot of fun.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this! I've got several other stories planned for this series. If everything goes as planned, the next one will either be about Enzo, or it will look into Heath's past.
> 
> Comments and tips are much appreciated. Thank you for reading :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. This is my very first time writing fic, and I'm pretty new to wrestling as well, so any feedback is greatly appreciated.


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